


The first light on the second day

by chaoticlivi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Other, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticlivi/pseuds/chaoticlivi
Summary: After Armageddon doesn't happen, Aziraphale and Crowley go for a long walk, eventually drawn toward the bandstand.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 129





	The first light on the second day

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to its-all-ineffable on tumblr for the beta read!

Just like Crowley, Aziraphale must have a sense of unfinished business surrounding the bandstand. Otherwise, their walk wouldn’t have brought them here. Thank Somebody they can simply go unnoticed; attention will roll off them like water off the proverbial duck’s back, and passers-by will choose not to come near. They won’t even think to _look_ at Crowley and Aziraphale.

It is the first hour of light on the second day after the world did not end.

Last night, after lunch and tea and dinner and dessert and a nightcap, Crowley hadn’t known what to do. He hadn’t known how to say goodnight. He hadn’t _wanted_ to say goodnight. He’d suggested that they could go for a walk. Aziraphale, in a positively radiant mood, and Crowley, enchanted by the way that radiance washed over his newfound inner calm, had spent the entire night walking and talking.

Well. Six thousand years of unspoken words are a lot of words, even if they’re still tiptoeing around the most important ones.

Now the purple-grey light of dawn breaks over London, and Aziraphale and Crowley have gravitated toward Rendezvous Point Number Three. They try, it’s clear from the turns the conversation takes - weather, food, traffic - to stay casual as they approach the bandstand, but the conversation falters. They go entirely quiet upon stepping under the roof.

The silence makes Crowley antsy. Aziraphale takes a breath, starts to clear his throat, and Crowley acts on the urge to jump in before Aziraphale can say anything.

“Right. So. Last time we were here. We both said some stuff. Both panicked a bit, neither of us was very nice. Let’s just agree to forget it, yeah?” The truth of the matter is what transpired here had hurt Crowley at the time, but Aziraphale has his reasons to be wounded, too. It hasn't erased the way that Crowley is drawn to the angel, whether it's more like a moth to a flame or leaves to the sunlight, and things are going so well now; they should let sleeping Hellhounds lie.

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “Really. If you’re quite sure…” He peers around them, slower and less frantic than last time they were here, and seems to reach some kind of decision, turning his attention once again to Crowley. “Perhaps we could stay for a little while anyway?” he asks hopefully. He offers his hand, as if asking for a shake. Or a handhold.

Crowley shrugs, nonplussed, and reaches back. “Anything you like."

Aziraphale fidgets, both of his hands now on Crowley's. He’s using their hold as a point of focus to avoid eye contact, and as he caresses, he also appears to be comparing his plump fingers to Crowley's thin, knobby ones. The ease and warmth of his touch is intoxicating. A primal part of Crowley wants to bask in that touch, to curl up and fall asleep.

The rest of Crowley, who is waiting on tenterhooks to hear what Aziraphale might have to say, swallows nervously and asks, “Something on your mind, angel?”

“Yes. Sort of.” Aziraphale nods, leaving his head tilted thoughtfully as he touches the tips of their fingers together one by one and then again all at once. “Ineffability.”

Not this again. The word makes Crowley’s blood go cold. “What about it?”

He must have a nervous tell, because Aziraphale picks up on it, finally meeting Crowley’s eyes with an urgent shake of his head. “No, no, not like before.”

Cautiously, Crowley lets himself relax just a little.

“You see, it's the definition of the word. Heaven used it to refer to, ah, themselves, but I think we've seen that Heaven doesn't own it. People - humans - will use it to refer to anything indescribable."

"Hmm. Whose work could that be?" Crowley teases. There is comfort in their old patterns.

"Oh, the first time they heard me say it, they ran with it. But listen. What I’m thinking about now is how, in six thousand years, I’ve had some very happy moments on this planet, even feelings that I couldn’t contain.”

“I, um. I guess I’ve had my moments, too.” It’s not healthy for a demon to even have the _range_ of emotions Crowley does, much less to _express_ them. Still, Aziraphale is technically allowed to know.

“But this,” Aziraphale forges ahead, weaving their fingers together, “since surviving our Sides, this is the first time, Crowley. This is the first time I’ve been so happy that not only can’t I contain myself, but I am not even equipped to describe it to you.” Aziraphale is smiling, and there is a dangerously watery sparkle to it. “It’s...beyond words.”

Crowley feels a deep pull in his chest and attempts to rearrange his own sentimental features into a less vulnerable smirk, with moderate success. “You absolute sap,” he murmurs, a little softer than intended and without the requisite distaste for it to be effective. Then he leans in to add, “Might be easier to convey in gestures, if you wanted?”, trailing off into a brittle question mark.

“Indeed," says Aziraphale. "But maybe you should show me exactly what you mean.”

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand fully in his and draws him even nearer, daring to slip his arms around the angel until they’re in a chin-on-shoulder, hearts-pressed-close embrace. Aziraphale squeezes Crowley, and this--

Oh. Crowley has never been truly held before, not by anybody who actually knows who and _what_ he is. Words escape him, too...

They relax into it, almost melting together. Aziraphale ends up with his face nestled under Crowley’s chin, Crowley stroking his hair. It might be worth making a time bubble, just in case they’re being watched, but Crowley can’t rip his mind away from the brand new experience of being held. Hugging, for Someone’s sake - what a thing for a demon to enjoy.

During the time they spend in each other’s arms, the light of dawn turns from purple to gold.

“You’re breathing,” Aziraphale observes at last.

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Crowley answers. There’s so much more to it than that - warmth, chemistry, electricity - but “breathing” sums up “performing unnecessary biological tasks” nicely.

“It seems a part of the experience,” Aziraphale says. “For you, too?”

“Me, too,” Crowley agrees. He turns to look when Aziraphale lifts his head, and is met with a reflection of his own feelings laid bare across the angel’s face.

“Our side,” Aziraphale beams, eyes still a bit damp.

“Our side,” Crowley whispers. And Aziraphale’s face is so close; Crowley has wondered about a moment like this, whether it could ever happen, whether it might feel wrong because of the whole “hereditary enemies” bit. But it’s so natural, so lovely and _right_ to close the last couple of inches between them, for Crowley to linger on Aziraphale’s mouth with his softest offering.

Aziraphale has had the same thought, obviously, parting his lips so they fit with Crowley’s like lush camellia petals sliding together. It’s the aching, delicate heat of two who’ve been desperate to drink each other in since before living memory.

As they kiss, Aziraphale emits a pleased little sound and wraps his arms even tighter around Crowley, whose wings unfurl into this world. In his excitement, he stretches them all the way between the pillars of the bandstand, and another light swishing sound indicates Aziraphale’s wings are doing the same.

Finally, Aziraphale pauses, leaning his forehead against Crowley’s. He is quite the sight, haloed in the rising sun, white wings fluttering. “You stopped time? Are you worried?” he asks.

Crowley huffs giddily. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything with time.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. Thought about it. Definitely didn’t actually do it.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale, already flushed, manages to look even more flustered. He tries to dismiss his error with a chuckle. “It rather felt like everything stopped except for us.”

Crowley takes a few seconds to pay real attention to their surroundings for the first time since Aziraphale took his hand; everything is brighter now, more awake. Though he hadn’t done anything on purpose, he feels it, too, the way the kiss had centered the moment, and Crowley does not bother to hide his embarrassing grin. “Nah. Everything’s still going, and we’re going right along with it.”

Aziraphale leans in again. “How lovely.”

Thank Somebody they can simply go unnoticed by all the beings of Earth except for each other.


End file.
